Fir, Pine, Spruce and Cedar
by lucyrinner
Summary: All it took was a tree, some cider, housecleaning, and three flights of stairs to bring Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons together on Christmas.


Jemma Simmons was feeling very, very claustrophobic.

Which, for her, wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. For months now, ever since her and her mother had moved into the tiny, tiny, apartment, and put all of their large, bulky stuff into it, the sensation had never really gone away. It was rare to be able to see the floor at this point, and making it to her bed was a challenge on it's own.

So usually, when her mother was off to work for most of the day, she would leave. And the perfect hangout spot, with great nightlife and tons of friends to be with?

The Christmas tree plot across the street from her window.

Everything about the lot was appealing to her. The criss-crossed strings of lights above her head, the thick green smell of the Fraser firs, the crunch of snow underneath her. It was brighter than her living room- probably even warmer, considering all of the heat lamps. She loved seeing all the families come for the perfect tree, and the struggle of thrusting them above whatever station wagon or sedan that could fit them.

But there was one thing, one specific thing, a thing that made her come frequently. Every other day or so. For the entire month of December.

And no, it wasn't for a boy.

Well, it was. Kinda. The voice was part of the boy.

But not like that, really.

He was cute- she'll acknowledge that. She watched him lift Christmas trees all night under a magical dusting of snowflakes after drinking gallons of free apple cider, of course he was cute. But it wasn't that, not at all.

But for some reason, the kinda cute boy that worked at the Christmas Tree plot from across the street had something she could not find in any other boy, and it was something she needed desperately- it was the unique tone and timbre was what she needed, what the project was missing.

And, in this case, it was the missing piece to her getting into graduate school on a full scholarship.

The first time Jemma heard it was the first time she visited the tree lot. She hadn't been visiting it at all. The annoying downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Agrippa, had her grandchildren visiting that day, and they were guilting the random passersby into purchasing an overpriced glass of 'homemade' lemonade. And Jemma did not have the money for the lemonade or the time to be called selfish by the eighty year old grandmother.

So she took a shortcut through the trees, hoping she could pop across the street at the far end quick enough to not be seen and slip through the back door of the apartment complex, completely mission-impossible like, and all would be fine.

But in the many Christmas tree lots of England, she passed through the one that had the ticket to her scholarship- a lucky move, and a curse.

Her project was fairly simple for someone applying to one of the biggest STEM schools in America- it was a study of the human brain and its' classification of superimposed sound waves, and whether it was differentiated by frequencies or wave interference. And she had gotten most of it done, between friends willing to lend their voices and the motivation that came from wanting to leave the apartment that wouldn't let her breathe.

But here she was, day after day of pretending to browse through Douglas Firs, hoping her mother wouldn't notice the enormous and suspicious amount of pine needles she tracked onto the carpet on a day to day basis. All for a voice that sounded slightly more northern than her own.

She promised herself that today was the day, though. Jemma promised herself that there would be no more stalking of the brunette boy that lifted heavy Christmas trees around and whose family she had probably inconvenienced by the major consumption of the free cider. So she grabbed her coat, put on her gloves, and walked across the street, already shivering from the light snowfall.

It didn't take her too much time to find him. She could hear him ask a customer if they needed any help only a few minutes into her walk through the trees. The hard part was the talking, the asking, the necessity of a huge favor from a stranger she had never met before.

Lucky for Jemma, he spoke first.

"So, do you have a strange fetish for Christmas trees?" He asks with a small smile, noticing her peeking out from behind a huge evergreen. "I swear I've seen you here before."

She supposes someone who wore blazers and carried around a large black bag that was filled with laptop cords and textbooks would be noticeable, after a while. Usually, she felt cute in the blazer she was wearing- the gray one lined with red. She once had gotten a compliment on it from a professor. She did not feel cute now. She felt like she was going to vomit.

"You know," he said over her silence, "most people only have to buy a tree once."

"I live over there." Jemma pointed at her apartment complex across the way, thinking it looked rather inviting compared to the situation she was in now. "And I catch the bus over there." She pointed at the stop next to the grocery store on the corner, as though she were speaking to a small child.

"Oh, then I won't stand in your way." He didn't move.

"I'm not going to the bus stop."

"So… you are buying a tree?" He looked at her like she was uneven. At least he wasn't frustrated. Yet. Jemma took it as a win.

The uniform her wore almost made him more unapproachable, with the red plaid shirt and worn blue jeans. He looked like a younger Brawny paper towel guy, and it reminded her of why she would never even like a guy like him- he was so outdoors. She needed someone inside, someone who appreciated science and BBC programs about space.

It wasn't that she didn't want a tree, either. She did. She really, really wanted her living room to smell like a yankee candle. But she was saving up for college and her mother was saving up for a new, bigger house. Trees were not a necessary purchase. Her brain scanned for another way around the situation. She needed time to suss him out, to show him that she wasn't a crazy person or a stalker or a spruce enthusiast before asking him the scary favor. A tree, it seemed, was her only way around the situation.

"Yes," she responded to his question. "Well, maybe. I was wondering if you guys had any, you know… Charlie Browns."

The moment she said it, she felt stupid. And a little insulted by her own intelligence. She was on her way to being a PHD and asked this guy where the cheap, dinky trees were like a four year old would.

He broke into an unexpected grin and turned around without a word, and Jemma hurried after him. He led her to a gathering of pint-sized trees near the register that came up to her kneecaps. The sad, sad trees of the lot.

"They're so… short." It was hard not to sound disappointed about it.

"You asked for the Peanuts tree, this is the Peanuts collection of trees."

Hearing his voice at such a closer range made her off kilter for a second, reinvigorated and excited about the new prospect.

"Charlie Brown's tree was pathetic, not two feet tall. It was almost as tall as he was."

He grinned, but spoke dryly. "Charlie was a short kid."

She couldn't help but crack a smile back. "Okay, something like that, but maybe a little less healthy?"

"All of our trees are healthy."

"Alright, let's cut to the chase, here. Where's the dying, wilting tree you can give me a good price on?" She surprised herself at her own boldness, but held her ground, still willing to banter for her project.

"Alright, we might have something. Follow me."

He took her back into the mass of trees and led her to the very back, the rows of unwanted trees with short lifespans surrounded by barely snow shoveled pavement. They stopped at a tree that was about her height, and only beginning to turn brown.

"This one's been on the lot for a few days," he said. "It's kinda sparse in the back, but put it against a wall and nobody will notice a thing."

Noticing all the trees on the way here had made Jemma a little less excited. The grand cypresses made her think of the days when they still got a tree, still baked cookies, still did Christmas right.

"I like it," she said, grabbing the price tag. She flipped it over and winced. "Okay, I have to say, I like it less."

"Oh, that's the old price. I could knock off a few pounds."

It would still cost way more than her mother would be happy about, with or without the crazy-lady discount he gave her.

She took a deep breath. "I'll take it for half price."

"You're crazy. Did you see the size of this thing?" His accent rang out louder in the silence of the lot.

"It's been sitting here! For days on end!"

"I said a few days, a few days."

She stared at him, wondering if the unmoving expression on her face was getting the job done well enough. The situation isn't exactly right for puppydog eyes.

"Listen, it's all I can give you. Half price."

He looks at her for a few seconds, thinking. "Okay, fine. You win." He grumbled.

She meant her thanks as he hefted away her new tree, calling over to the woman at the cash register as he got closer. "Mum, fifty percent off this one!"

She looked up from the register and smiled at him, a strange, almost shocked look on her face. "So," she started when Jemma handed her some bills. "You know it's rare to get a discount like that out of my son. You must be pretty special."

"Oh, I wasn't even going to buy a tree. Trust me, you guys won this round," she jokes awkwardly, shifting her weight on both feet as the fidgets with the bag around her shoulder.

She saw him a few yards behind her, still with the tree in his hands. "Where's your car parked?"

Oh, well, this was going to be a problem.

He realizes it almost as quick as she does. "You don't have a car,"

"No."

"You walked here,"

"Yes."

They stared at each other, each moment making Jemma want to sink into the flurry-covered ground a little more.

"I'll carry it," she offers, moving towards the tree still balanced in his arms.

"You're crazy. And probably about 110 pounds, which is lighter than the tree."

"My place is right across the street, okay? I can carry it."

He starts to put the tree down, and she actually thinks he's gonna let her carry it when he picks it back up again. "Had to fix my grip- lead the way."

She pretended to look put out. "Seriously, I'm way stronger than I look."

He gave her a look and shouted to his mother behind him. "Mum, I'll be back in fifteen!"

"You're taking your break?"

"I'm helping a customer."

"You're taking your break," she told him, a small smile on her face.

He sighed and nodded, turning and walking out the gate. Jemma trotted behind him, feeling even more guilty as she watched him struggle all the way out of the lot. "You shouldn't be doing this," she says quietly.

"Yeah, you're right. Most people bring cars."

"I appreciate it, though," she said, which he responded to with a grunt.

It was a nice enough grunt, so she kept going. "What's your name?"

"Fitz. Well, it's Leo, but everyone calls me Fitz. You?"

"Jemma. Jemma Simmons."

"Well, nice to meet you Jemma. I've already been thoroughly acquainted with your tree." She laughs and he laughs a little too, despite the movement causing a few pine needles to fall to the ground in front of him.

Jemma smiled, please to get a laugh out of him, so she continued. "Where's the family farm?"

"Billingley," he said and she shrugged at the name. "It's near Middlecliff, I guess. And a whole lot smaller than this place, which is barely even recognizable by GPS." She was right about the northern accent thing- for a girl who listened to voices all day, she felt rather proud of herself for that one.

The finally reaches the entrance of the complex. "Where's the apartment?"

"You're going to hate me," she winced again as she pointed to the balcony at the top of the building, the only one not decorated in festive lights or strings of candy canes.

"Of course you live on the top floor," he grunts, starting the trek up the stairs.

"Of course you're going to make me regret your help forever," she laughs, following behind him.

"Hey, Jemma? Grab the other end, in front of me. This might be easier."

She hurries to grab the tip of the tree and slowly trudges up the stairs, getting dusted with pine needles with every step she took.

"Can't you move a little faster?" Fitz says as he rounds the first set of stairs with the trunk in his hands awkwardly.

"Can't you be a little nicer?" She retorts.

He laughs a little, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, fair enough. Seriously though, you're not. Helping, that is. You're not really helping."

"I can't get a good grip."

"Trees have great grip. They're basically made to grip."

And with that, he pauses for a second, taking a deep breath, and then walks quickly up the stairs, moving past Jemma like a timid but strong gladiator. It cracks Jemma up.

"Made it, didn't I?" He said through her laughs.

"Look, Fitz, I didn't even want a tree in the first place," she says, about to resign to defeat. She used up her crazy favor by making this poor guy carry this tree to her house, she can't ask him to do funny voices before he leaves. "You talked me into this. This is your fault."

Fitz looks at her. "Then next time, pick somewhere else to loiter."

She heaves the tree away from him and leans it next to her door defensively. "I wasn't loitering."

They're interrupted by a voice coming from below, from the previous flight of stairs. "What's going on up there?" Mrs. Agrippa yells.

Jemma cringed. "Sorry, Mrs. Agrippa!"

"I knew it was you! I knew you were up to something!"

Fitz raised an eyebrow as Jemma leaned back on her door next to the tree, putting her hand on her forehead. She scrubs her face for a second, then yells back. "Sorry for all the shouting, Mrs. Agrippa! I'm just bringing home a Christmas tree!"

"Well, don't put it on your balcony. I'm right under you and the last thing I need is to be sweeping pine needles off my balcony everyday until the new year, it'll be filthy."

Both of Fitz's eyebrows rose. "She would be lucky to come into contact with a tree that isn't plastic, especially one of our trees," he whispers to her, trying to hold back a smile.

"It's going inside, Mrs. Agrippa!" Jemma yelled as she dug through her bag for keys. "Like all Christmas trees," she added below her breath. The door below slammed shut without another word.

Jemma was so relieved to be done with the whole adventure. Finished. The end. "Well, thank you so much for carrying an entire tree to my apartment, but I've got it from here," she said, opening her door and walking inside, where she could hide forever after this. "Goodnight."

But Fitz wasn't looking at her. He was looking behind her into her living room, eyes widening every second. "And how, in fact, do you expect to carry this into that?"

Furniture and bags and boxes were piled up to the ceiling. Even with the overhead lights on, and the lamps, it looked dark and looming. There was only one pathway through it for day to day living, and it was barely wider than a person.

"You're a… hoarder."

"I'm not a hoarder. And neither is my mom, thank you very much." Her chest gets tighter with every second he looks into her home. "It's a temporary situation. We're in between houses."

"Then why not put it in storage?"

"Storage costs money, and we save that for the new house."

Fitz didn't have a comeback for that one, An abashed expression appeared on his face, but it thankfully disappeared quickly.

"So… where am I supposed to put the tree, then?"

"I told you, Fitz. I've got it from here."

"It can't even fit through there," he gestured to the path that had be formed over time. "And what's your plan? Going to leave it out in the hallway?"

Jemma was overwhelmed by a sense of panic. How could she have let him up here? Too see this? And how could she have spent money on something that her and her mother would have to throw away in a week? Something that couldn't even fit into their apartment?

"I don't know, okay? I was going to put it over there, in front of the balcony door."

He looked at her incredulously. "The balcony door? The one behind the china cabinet, you mean?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"You're insane, you know that? Why would you even buy a Christmas tree?"

She takes a breath. "Because, you're extremely persuasive!"

Fitz turned around to look at her. She wasn't sure what she was expecting him to do, maybe walk out, with or without the tree, but he didn't do that. Amazingly, she smiled at her, and it made her feel the tiniest bit calmer about the entire situation.

He inhaled and exhaled, relaxingly. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, just shift some stuff around, I guess." The expression on her face was as doubtful as the tone of her voice. Neither her mother nor her had moved anything since they were put there the day they moved in. Fitz tentatively walked further into the apartment, scratching the back of his head.

She shouldn't be embarrassed about this. This was a temporary living situation. A mean to an end. This was not something she should be embarrassed about.

"There is no way this is safe."

"We've been here for a year, and nothing's fallen on us yet, Fitz," She sighs.

"You've lived in this pit of death for a year? I'm sorry, I can't let you bring my tree in here. It'll die before Christmas, which is only five days away. You'll have a depressing brown mess to clean up in a few hours."

"I like the tree. My dad-" she stopped herself before continuing uneasily- "He went full out on Christmas."

"And where's your dad now?" He said, expecting her to say dead. He's relieved when she responds.

"London."

"He's not around anymore?"

"Nope. And my mom doesn't talk about it, at all. If she could, she would get a picture of him and tape it up on the wall and throw darts at it like that handicapped Scottish woman from The Decoy Bride, but she doesn't have that much time on her hands."

"Oh. Divorce?"

"They were never married."

"Siblings?"

"I'm an only child."

"Where's your mum?

"At work- night shift," She responds quickly, but regrets it almost immediately. She just told a total stranger she would be alone for several more hours. For all she knew, he sold trees as a day job and moonlighted as the English Freddy Krueger.

But Fitz only seemed annoyed. "So there's no one else to help us. Fantastic."

"Excuse me?"

He picked up an old English tea set balancing precariously on top of a few boxes, handing it to her. "You'll have to find a place to put stuff before we start rearranging."

Jemma's frustration grew at a colossal rate. "Sorry?"

"This can all be reorganized, I'll just need some space to work with. Everything in these front rooms could probably be moved into the hallway outside." She doesn't move, so he puts his hands on her shoulders and gently moves her to the side.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Helping you, obviously."

"Don't you have to go back to work?"

"I do. Which is why you're going to continue this while I'm gone, one at a time. I'll be back when my shift is over."

She watched him walk out the door, looking back at her once to make sure she wasn't on the floor. She incredulously put the tea set on the floor next to the door and he left, jogging down the stairs.

\- FUCKING LINE BREAK GO YOU KRAFKA 

Jemma had no idea how he talked her into this.

For the last three hours, she had been carrying gross, dusty boxes and broken chairs and bags filled to the brim with trash outside into the hallway. Mrs. Agrippa had yelled at her four times.

She dreaded her mother coming home and finding their entire apartment rearranged. And then, her finding out that a stranger did it. That it was, in fact, his suggestion. The guy who, if he had enough muscle to lift a tree, could surely axe murder her.

But, on the bright side, him talking her into this and her letting him had advantages. Surely, after spending hours cleaning the entire apartment, she'd be comfortable enough with him to ask the favor.

Plus, his company was the most entertaining she had enjoyed in a while. A long while.

He was unpredictable. Real life, a breath of fresh air.

Unfortunately for her, the breaths she was taking at the moment were not fresh. Each box was covered in a layer of heavy dust, and every attempt to brush it off made the air around her worse.

Finally, she heard a knock at the door. He came through holding a tree stand, handing it to her. "Merry Christmas," he said looking around at the newly cleared spaces. "Wow, you got a lot more done that I thought you would."

"I told you earlier- I'm stronger than I look. And we have one of these already, somewhere in a box."

"I don't doubt that, but good luck finding it. Thank you Fitz," he said in a slightly higher voice.

Annoyed. "Thank you, Fitz."

It's brighter in here, too."

Jemma couldn't refute that, but it wasn't forever. The stuff in the hallway still, at one point, had to come back in. "You really think we'll be able to fit the tree in here?"

"Oi, have I given you any reason to doubt me yet?"

She nodded. "Yes, actually. For one, you helped me, someone you didn't even know. Textbook case of bad judgement."

"I'd argue that, but I can't," he said with a smile, tuning his back from the china cabinet to give her a small grin. "I may not have superior organizational power, but I loved Tetris when I was younger."

With that, he began to push boxes farther and farther away from the stockpile. "You think Mrs. Agrippa will be angry to hear you vacuuming at this hour?"

"Very. Let's do it."

So Jemma vacuumed, and fended off her angry neighbor, and when she tried to find the old dusting rags somewhere in one of the boxes, he took pity on her and grabbed one of the cleaner dish cloths that were easily locatable.

The way Fitz stacked everything into the corner- some things upside down, some things on their sides- was Tetris like. Blocky. Stable. Every piece of furniture was padded in with linens and tablecloths, as not to waste space. The air slowly became cleaner, emptier, and Jemma could feel her breath more as the space cleared out.

"I'm dying," Jemma said as she wiped the sweat off her forehead. Fitz nodded and finally took off his sweatshirt, revealing a black t-shirt underneath.

A black t-shirt with an entire periodic table of elements complete with the cheesey pun of I wear this shirt periodically.

And Jemma became totally tongue-tied very, very quickly.

She knew on some level, Fitz must like her, at least as a friend- guys didn't just do things like this if they didn't find the girl completely awful. And the shirt, the science shirt. A shirt someone who would sometimes enjoy indoor activities would wear. Maybe they had more in common than she thought they did, more than a mutual appreciation for Christmas and verbal sparring.

"I know, I know, it's dorky. I'm an engineer, okay? We're allowed to wear dorky, novelty t-shirts."

She gaped at him for a second. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," he said with uncertainty, looking at her like she had just had a stroke. "You?"

"Same," she responded. "And you're an engineer."

He looked sheepish again. "Yeah, I got to skip a few years. More than a few, actually. I'm trying to get my PHD."

"What about tree selling? I mean, I didn't think you majored in tree selling, but-"

"I've only really done it in the winter, and as a favor to my mum. What about you? Shouldn't you be in your freshman year?"

She wanted to break out into laughter at the amount of coincidence happening. "I'm going for my PHD in biochem next year-" she said excitedly, until she remembered her current state of her college applications. "I skipped a few years too, like you."

He smiled at her, a really genuine smile that made her feel really, really guilty about her entire plan to trick him into helping her.

So she started talking- and she talked for forever, talking about her project and why she hung around the tree lot all those days and why she looked like she was going to pass out every time she heard his voice.

"-and I've clearly freaked you out, and I'm totally mortified, and now I'm going to stop talking," she said. And now I'm going to die. Sink into the newly-cleaned carpet and die.

There was a long and painful silence. And then Fitz's features slid back into their usual state of composure, thank god. "First of all," he said with an air of teasing in his voice. "I'm flattered that you came looking for me and not a tree. That shows much better judgement on your part."

"Oh, don't get too excited. I came looking for your voice."

"Second of all, I cannot believe it took you an entire month, not to mention me having to physically enter your apartment, for you to ask me that question. Which, by the way, has still not been formed into an actual question, so I couldn't possibly give you an answer."

"Fitz," she said through gritted teeth. "Would you please consider lending me your voice for science?"

"That depends," he said.

Her heart sank. "On what?"

"If you're planning on Henrietta Lacks-ing me. You know, taking my cells for science then never telling me that I cured polio and burying me in an unmarked grave."

She laughed at this, relieved he didn't ask for actual payment.

He looked at her with the bright blue eyes and short curls, and noticed her relief. "You know what's amazing, particularly astounding about you, a very, very smart person?"

"What?"

"That you don't realize that I would do anything, anything-" he gestured to the cleared room around them- "to stay in your company."

Jemma's heart was in her throat. She opened her mouth to respond, when someone pounded on the door. Keep it down in there! Some of us are trying to sleep!"

"Jesus Christ," Fitz said, looking at the door. "She doesn't stop."

"Never." She trudged to the door. "Mrs. Agrippa, how can I help you?"

"It's midnight," she started, pulling at her robe sleeves. "How am I supposed to sleep with this racket? Oh, my god! You've been robbed!" She yelled, looking behind Jemma and into the living room. She seemed to be especially suspicious of Fitz standing inside, looking one hundred percent more bewildered than terrifying.

"No! That's my friend, Mrs. Agrippa. He's helping me clean. Doesn't it look nice?"

"Do you need me to phone the police? Are you in danger?"

"Really, I'm fine. That's Fitz."

"And your mother knows about him?" The elderly woman changed from defensive to nosy in only a few seconds.

Jemma pushed her out. "Yes, of course! Goodnight, ma'am! We'll keep it down!"

She turned inside and looked around. The only thing left on the side of the balcony door was the tree, and she couldn't believe it.

"You know, it's not science, but you can tell alot about a person from their surroundings," she says with a grin. "Without a doubt, this feels better."

He looks out the window. "It's snowing."

Jemma whips her head around. "My mom will be home soon, and she'll hurry when it's that cold outside. You have to go." She started scrambling around, rushing into the kitchen with a batch of cookies.

"We just splurged on them yesterday. Take them, for helping me."

He grabbed the container with a nod. "Jemma, would it be okay if I, you know, called you sometime? I mean, if you're still interested in the voice work, I'd be happy to help. I could stop by after a shift."

His Scottish accent was so clear in the now-silent apartment. and he awkwardly trudged to the door when she didn't respond to his words.

She walked over to him, no words or voices required, and grabbed the container of cookies, shoving them aside, placing one hand on his cheek and one on his shoulder. She pulled him to her.

She kissed him.

He kissed her back.

He was new and shiny and was pulling her closer, fingers sliding from the nape of her neck up into her hair.

When she finally unwove herself from him, she didn't go far, foreheads almost touching. "All night long, you could've done that," she whispered.

"I wanted to do that all month."

"I'll settle for all of this month, if that's okay with you."

He laughed incredulously at her. "Yeah, I think it'll be okay."

Fitz pulled her back in and it happened again, the warm feeling. "Okay, okay," she laughed, pushing him back again. "Now you really have to go."

She tossed him his red flannel uniform and he threw it over his t-shirt. "What do you think you're mom will say when she sees it?"

"Honestly?" He nodded. "She'll be pissed. But then… I think she'll be kinda glad. Maybe even happy."

"I hope so."

"See you tomorrow?" Jemma asked.

"I expect you to have hot cider in your hands the moment my shift starts. I've never been happier to work for my mother."

Jemma peeked out her window to watch him go, cutting through the now dark lot of trees. The glass was cold and she had her fingertips pressed up to it until she couldn't see his figure anymore.

There was a rattling of keys at the door. She turned around. Everything was warm and bright and cozy.

The doorknob turned slowly.

"Mom," Jemma said. "Welcome home."


End file.
